Posts Tagged ‘Krystyna Fedosejevs’
Dec
That Day
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He dreamt of one. Then another and another…until the sky was
crowded with them. Umbrellas. Pristine white. Open. Descending from up
high. Why?
They were irrelevant in his daily life. Not so for his wife who needed
different umbrellas to complement her wardrobe.
Upon awakening he realized what triggered the scene he envisioned. Why
he told his boss he wouldn’t be at work that day.
“Does this go with my sweater?” his wife asked, opening an umbrella by
his bedside.
The man quietly slid back under the covers.
No way was he going to move on Friday the 13th.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna, a former librarian, gathers tidbits from around the
world in her travels, strings them into delectable morsels of poetry
and prose, and stores them in her gopher hole in the Canadian
Prairies. She is open to sharing, upon request.
Jun
In The Spirit Of Amusement
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Amusement Park. Strange name. Bet there are more unamused adults than young children. Heard Uncle Max scream. Saw him vomit on the Ferris Wheel, again. After he said he couldn’t stomach it. Cousins bashed themselves manoeuvring bumper cars. Their dads were not amused. Neither was the ride operator. Too much cotton candy caused my sweet tooth to sour at the dentist’s. We tried the Swing Carousel. I sat with Dad. The swing in front of us was empty. Would’ve been filled if the father of a toddler didn’t have a tantrum. They relocated at the merry-go-round. I preferred the Pendulum.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and many friends.
Apr
His Girl
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He returned to their place, behind a shrub. Where they as teenagers
watched practitioners exit a church. Where he kissed away her tears
after her father walked out, showering affection on a stranger.
She, the girl he played tag with in childhood. The one he dated
through high school. The one he wrote to after he moved out of the
city, and her letters stopped abruptly.
He watched between raindrops clinging to leafless branches. She exited
the church on the arm of another man. Wedding procession followed.
Rainstorm may have passed, but the storm in his mind had only intensified.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She
resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and
many friends.
Nov
Chopping Along
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Knife steadied, I proceeded to chop sweet pepper. Choppy chords of a Chopin prelude dominated the airwaves as the sound of an overhead chopper faded. “Anything else to add to our Chopin list? Sorry, couldn’t help it,” husband laughed. Lucky he’s not on my chopping block, I thought. “Don’t forget. Mother’s here for dinner tonight,” I said. Onions appeared next on my chopping board. “What are you making, Mom?” I turned around to answer: “Vegetarian Chop Suey.” “No lamb chops? That’s okay,” my boy surmised. “Don’t think grandma’s choppers can take anything tough. Does she know how to use chopsticks?
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and many friends.
Oct
Mistaken Identity
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Patricia?”
“Yes, Sir?” replied the student being questioned.
“Wonderful!”
Mr. Griffin gazed at his student’s artwork.
“I improved the charcoal shading,” Patricia beamed. She looked up for
his reaction.
“I mean your dance of the sugar plum fairy was wonderful,” the teacher
clarified.
“It was Delores. Not me.”
“What were you?”
“One of the reindeer.”
Mr. Griffin gazed into the distance. “Delores!” he yelled and
commenced walking towards her.
Patricia’s eyes filled with tears. A few landed on her drawing.
Someone tapped her shoulder.
“Nice picture. You’re a gifted artist,” Paul the student sitting next
to her said.
Patricia smiled.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She
resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals.
Sep
Book Launch
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Congratulations,” I said. “I’ve been following your development.”
The honored author uttered an inquisitive “Oh.”
“I mean, as an author,” I clarified.
A young twenty-something giggled placing a copy of the new novel between us. She begged for a signature. I turned around to mingle with others.
“Wait, I would like to talk with you,” the author insisted. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
“Nice line,” I responded.
“I admit, not original. But say…”
“We met an hour ago.” I smiled. “You’re the new next door tenant at Argyle Road. You handed me an invitation to this event. Remember?”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals.
Jun
Unconventional Ray
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“I need to take another X-ray,” the doctor said.
“Why?” asked the patient.
“Not ‘Y’. ‘X’ as in X-rated.”
“What is X-rated?” The patient was awakening from post-surgery slumber.
A nurse entered the hospital room. The doctor left.
“So, how does it look?” the patient asked the nurse. Realizing his covers were off and she was peering down at him below the waist.
“I mean, my ankle.”
The nurse funneled her eyes through his. Her full lips smiled at the corners. Giggling followed.
“You’re on the mend, Ray,” she said. “Dr. Hoo just wants to take one more X-ray.”
“Who?”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories. She’s published in Canada, United States and Europe in journals, anthologies and online including Boston Literary Magazine and Friday Flash Fiction. She won several poetry contests, was shortlisted in a short story competition and is a member of two writers’ groups where she resides.
Apr
In The Dark
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Sit down!” someone yelled.
“I need to find out what happened,” I yelled back.
“We were told to wait,” a woman insisted.
The stage went dark. My mind revisited twirling silks, accelerating swings.
“Pity she fell. A beautiful performer,” the man next to me said.
“She wanted to be a aerial trapeze artist since turning twelve,” I replied.
“Difficult to replace,” he added. “She was so talented.”
“Why in the past?”
“Because,” he said while checking the Internet, “It appears she may have…”
“It’s my only child,” I sobbed, rising to walk away from my seat.
No one stopped me.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
Feb
Outside The Box
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Annie is missing. “Not in her room,” Mom said. “Can’t find her outdoor
shoes,” noted Dad. “Maybe she fell into a humongous puddle,” quipped
younger brother. Older brother was silent. Two guinea pigs madly
threaded wheels. Crows lined the backyard fence squawking at the
house. “Bet she’s at a friend’s,” said Dad. “Maybe a monster snatched
her,” younger brother grinned. “That’s enough young man,” asserted
Mom. “We need to think OUTSIDE the box,” Dad stated. “Maybe someone
put her INSIDE a box,” giggled younger brother. “Hush!” yelled Mom.
Older brother emerged: “Annie’s in my bedroom closet with an imaginary
friend.”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
Dec
Wife’s Helper
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
John flipped his wife’s shopping list and reached for the phone in his jacket. No charge.
He caught a nearby shopper.
“Excuse me, what are these,” he pointed to the list.
“Try the seafood counter,” was the reply.
Once there, John asked, “Do you have scal…?”
“Scallops?” the server interjected. “Half a pound? They’re pricey.”
John placed the package into his basket. “Where do I find this,” he showed the same man.
“Rubber scrapers in kitchen gadgets.”
“Thank you.”
When John arrived home, his wife unpacked the bags.
“I’m allergic to shellfish!” she shrilled. “Where are the scallions
and capers?”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.